


The Fanfic Job

by Crisdin, fleurlb



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crisdin/pseuds/Crisdin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Christmas time in Boston and the Leverage team were looking forward to a well deserved break. Or they were until Nate took on one more job. The client was a Fanfiction writer being threatened by a mysterious stranger. It seemed like a simple enough job- one that could be wrapped up in time to enjoy the holidays. But the con quickly becomes a rescue and now it will take all the skills the team has to offer if they are to save the client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mariella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mariella/gifts).



> Posted, but definitely not written, by fleurlb.

Nate tipped his glass and finished his drink in a single smooth gulp. Ignoring Sophie’s pointed glare, he gestured to the bartender for a refill before turning his attention back to the young woman seated across the booth from him. She was toying nervously with a glass of white wine, fingering the stem, tapping on the base. Her cheeks were flushed and she was avoiding his gaze. After a minute, she slid the glass of untouched Chardonnay away from her and reached for her purse.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Ford. I apologize for wasting your time. I don't think you can help me.”

Nate placed his hand gently over hers. “Why don't you let us decide that?”

Sophie gave her a warm smile and nodded encouragingly. It was a 10 carat, you-can-trust-me smile. Hardison could hack his way into any computer system, Parker could sneak into the most secure of places, and Eliot could bash down any obstacle in his way. But Sophie? Sophie could smile. It was her super power. The keys to the kingdom were hers, whenever she unleashed that smile.

The client paused, settled back into her seat and gave Sophie a brief tentative smile in return. “It's just that…well, you probably won't believe me. The police think I am crazy. Even my friends are skeptical.”

“You would be surprised at the tales we have heard,” Nate said. “Tell us about it.”

Taking a deep breath, she began to speak. “Have you ever heard of a website called Fanfiction?”

After exchanging a brief glance with Sophie, Nate turned towards the bar and gestured to a tall, young black man. Hardison snatched up his laptop and sauntered over to the table. He seated himself, popped open the laptop and typed in his password before looking at Nate questioningly.

“Fanfiction?”

Hardison grinned. “Fanfiction. Yeah. Website where writers can post stories about their favorite TV shows.”

Nate turned back to the client. “Go on.”

“Well, I write. Just a hobby, you know? Anyway, there is a show I really like. It is called Lie to Me,” she paused and looked from Nate to Sophie, both of them looking back with blank expressions. “It's about highly trained doctors who are deception experts. They can tell what a person is feeling and if they are lying just by looking at them. They read something called micro expressions. I…I know this sounds silly. Nate took a sip of his whiskey to cover his grin. Sophie looked serene. Hardison snorted and said “Aw, hell no. Not silly, ‘t all. We know all kinds a things ‘bout micro expressions.”

“Really? You do? Well anyway, I have been writing a fanfic story about the Lie to Me characters. And weird stuff has been happening to me. Scary stuff.”

“Go on.”

“At first, I had some problems with the site. I would post chapters and then the chapters would disappear and I would have to post them all over again. I just thought it was a glitch with the site or maybe with my computer. But then I got an anonymous review on one of my chapters. It threatened me. It said that writing fanfiction could be detrimental to my health. Most of the people on this site are wonderful but occasionally a nut job pops up. I submitted a complaint to the site moderators. The review disappeared immediately, and I assumed the moderators took care of it.”

She paused and took her first sip of the wine she had been toying with.

“But then,more scary reviews turned up. Some were terrifying. One said that I could get a sun burn sitting on that purple chair on my balcony.”

“You sunbathe in December?” Hardison asked.

“No. But that’s not the point. The thing is, I actually do have a purple chair on my balcony! How could he know that? Then it got even creepier. In another review, he described clothing I was wearing that day and said that bloodstains would not wash out.”

She paused again but this time she drank the wine in a gulp.

“I kept emailing the site. The reviews kept disappearing. Finally, someone from the site responded to me. They said they didn't know what I was referring to because there were no scary reviews. It wasn't them! The moderators didn't delete those reviews. How could those reviews just vanish? Even the email notifications about the reviews just disappeared from my laptop. How is that even possible?”

Hardison’s fingers were flying across the keyboard. He fingers stilled and he looked up. “They threatened your cat? Now, that's cold.”

“How did you know that?”

“Girl, nuthin’ disappears completely from the Internet. Folks think that. They think you can make stuff just go away forever, but that ain't so. You can't just erase information that's out there, unless of course, you're me. Nope. That info is always someplace. Oftentimes, it's someplace that can't actually be found, unless of course, you're me.”

 

At the bar, an attractive blond woman and a muscular long haired man sat watching. Though they spoke quietly, Nate could hear their words in his earbud when they simultaneously muttered “Behold my genius”.

Nate cleared his throat. “Hardison. The point?”

Seemingly unaware of the byplay, Hardison continued with his rapid fire keyboard tapping. “He's good, Nate. The hacker. Not as good as me, but good. He encoded those reviews to self-delete as soon as she read them. I got his IP addy, though. Just need a few minutes…”

“So, you believe me?”

“Yes,” Nate responded.

“Will you help me?”

“Yes. What else have you not told us, Miss…”

“No. Not Miss anything. If you are going to save my life…or at least my sanity, we should be on a first name basis. Please. Call me Mariella.”

“Mariella,” Sophie said softly. “What a lovely name. But you know, I feel as though there may be something else you are not telling us.”

Mariella swallowed and looked away. _Nothing micro about that expression,_ Nate thought.

“It’s just that, I don’t want you to think…I mean, it just sounds so paranoid…maybe I am just being paranoid, but…”

”Mariella.”

“Okay. I think that someone has been in my apartment. It’s nothing I can prove, but I noticed little things have been moved, drawers not quite closed all the way, stuff like that.”

Nate smiled reassuringly. “You have a cat, right?”

“Actually it is my best friend’s cat. Frodo. I am just cat-sitting. She and my brother are dating and they are off on vacation.

“Any chance Frodo might be the item-moving culprit?”

“Sure. Maybe for some of the things. But there are other things he could not have reached and he couldn’t have opened drawers.”

“Do you live alone?”

“No, I moved in with my boyfriend, but he is away also. He has a sick parent and we don’t know how long he will be gone.” Mariella’s words trailed off and she hung her head. “I know what you are thinking. Boyfriend, best friend, brother- all away. Single girl home alone and imagining things. You could be right. My boyfriend put brand new expensive locks on the doors and windows. There is just no way anyone could have gotten in, so I guess I really am crazy.”

Nate glanced at Parker, who was still sitting at the bar but was listening intently. The lights over the bar made her dangling candy cane earrings sparkle. At a quick nod from Nate, Parker eased off the barstool and headed out the door. Hardison was already texting her the address.

“Tell us more about the story you are writing.”

“Oh. Well, it is about a guy who robs a bank without the bank knowing it was robbed.”

Nate grimaced though Hardison and Sophie grinned when Parker’s squeal came through their earbuds. “Ooo, cool! Tell her to speak up. I want to hear all about that!” At the bar, Eliot growled and rolled his eyes.

Unaware of all this, Mariella continued her narrative with enthusiasm. “You see, the guy poses as a facility manager. You know, like a management company that takes care of things like repairs and cleaning and electrical bills? But this guy is actually a really talented hacker. One of his biggest accounts is a bank. He can hack stuff like the meters that measure how much heat and electricity the bank is using, and he makes it look like they used much more than they did. Then, after the bill comes, he hacks the utility companies and changes everything back. He pays the real amount but he has a paper trail to show the bank that the bill was higher and he keeps the difference. He does that for everything- the utilities, housekeeping, landscaping, plowing the parking lot in the winter…all kinds of things. He robs the bank every month and they have no idea. Or at least not until the bank manager gets suspicious and hires The Lightman Group to investigate all the employees.”

A soft ping from Hardison’s laptop, followed by his whispered “Gotcha” attracts Nate’s attention. Hardison slid the laptop around so Nate could see the screen.

“Mariella, do you know a man named Scott Wilde?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Nate turned the screen and showed her the picture. “This man?”

“Yeah, that’s one of my ex-boyfriends. But his name isn’t Scott. His name is Ken Gray.”

“What does he do for a living?”

“I haven’t seen him in years, but back then he was a bank manager. We only dated for a few months. He was a little intense.”

“Actually,” Hardison said, “Dude’s name is Scott Wilde and he runs SJW Management Company. As far as I can see, and I can see far, mama, he ain’t never been a bank manager.”

Nate pursed his lips in thought for a few moments before making eye contact with his confused client.

“Mariella? Where exactly did you get the idea for your story?”

“Oh. Oh, crap. Ken told me. He said it happened in his bank and he was the one to spot the scam.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

After inspecting the apartment, Parker had reported in via the earbuds. “Roof, air duct, crawl space with a trap door in back of closet.”

“And does it appear that someone used that method to get in?” Nate had asked.

“Oh, yeah. Dust has been disturbed in the vents and the crawl space. Someone has been here recently, and probably more than once.” The slight metallic echo of Parker’s words suggested that she was still in the air duct. This didn’t surprise Nate. Parker really liked air ducts.

Having determined that Mariella was not imagining things when she feared that an intruder had been in her apartment, Nate dispatched Eliot to escort her to a nearby condo that the team kept as a safe house.

Parker returned to the office just minutes before Eliot. She was sporting a bright red Santa hat that she had somehow acquired on her trip back. Nate doubted that Santa even knew he'd been robbed. Hardison had done his research on the mark and the big screen monitors on the wall were filled with data on Scott Wilde. Nate was studying the picture of Wilde intently, when Eliot and Parker joined Sophie at the table facing the screens.

Nate turned to Eliot. “Any problems?”

“No.”

“Good. Hardison?”

“Scott Wilde. AKA Kenneth Wilde, Kenneth Scott, Scott Gray and a whole lotta other fake names. Dude is a cockroach. Seems to do quite a bit of on-line dating. He belongs to six different sites, and is dating anywhere from two to five different women at a time.”

“So, he is a Lothario,” Sophie murmured.

“Naw. That ain’t what it’s about for our boy, Scott. He is doing research. He targets women who work for big companies. He dates them long enough to find out if their employers might be a ‘business opportunity’ for hisself. If not, he dumps ‘em pretty quick. If so, he dates them long enough to find out everything he can about their employers so he has plenty of insider intel before he goes after the account.”

“How is he landing all these accounts?” Nate asked.

Hardison shook his head in disgust. “Basically he sandbags whatever management company the account already has. He hacks into the systems and sabotages stuff. Three different landscapers show up to do the lawn, no cleaning people at all come, and so on. Then he sabotages the facility- roofs leak, plumbing backs up. On one occasion, there was a small fire in the building and surprise, surprise- none of the fire detectors worked. Seems that every one of them had a dead battery.

“Charming,” Eliot said.

“Yup. So, inevitably the current management company gets fired and Wilde swoops in and scores the account for his management company. Then books get cooked, and bills get falsified, and anything with a operating system gets hacked. Looks to me like he has a little side job doing some industrial espionage, findin’ and sellin’ info to the account’s competitors.”

“And he has managed to fly under the radar all this time?” Nate asked.

“Maybe not completely. There have been a few complaints filed against him but nothing ever happened with those.”

“Let me guess. The complaints just disappeared.”

“Not exactly.” Hardison shifted restlessly. “It was more like the people who complained disappeared.”

“This is a very bad man,” Parker proclaimed. “Let’s have Eliot kill him.”

“Parker…” Eliot growled.

“ _No_ ,” Nate said firmly.

“Can I taze him?”

“ _No,_ ” Nate said firmly.

Parker pouted. “Can we have Eliot beat him up?”

“ _No_ ,” Nate said firmly.

Eliot leaned in and stage whispered to Parker “That one can be arranged.”

Parker smiled brightly. Sophie and Hardison snickered. Nate gave them all the requisite glare, though he secretly agreed with Parker that this guy could use a good solid smack down. He was relieved to see that the levity broke the tension that Hardison’s last statement had caused.

“Focus, people,” Nate said “what do we think happened here? Why would he tell our client all about his scam?”

“Hubris,” Sophie said. “He’s vain. He thinks he is incredibly clever. Wants to show that off to a pretty girl. My guess is this- he determined that Mariella’s place of business was not a viable target for any of his scams. He felt safe in bragging about his exploits to a girl he would soon be dumping. He changed up the story to make it seem as if he was the one who discovered the scam and saved the day.”

Hardison nodded. “And he never thought for a second that she would write the story and publish it, which would then potentially blow the scam if any one of his victims read the story and got to thinking about it.”

“Is that even likely, though?” Parker asked.

“Mama, he’s got a whole lot of victims, past and present. Ya never know.”

“Well…” Nate began to speak but was cut off by Eliot.

“I am just gonna say it, Nate,” Eliot said, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest. “What ever happened to taking a break during the holidays?”

Nate regarded Eliot who was giving him a steely stare. “So, you are saying that you don’t want to help this girl, Eliot? You want to take a Christmas break while some scumbag victimizes her?”

“No, I do not. I never said that. What I am saying is that it ain’t safe to keep going from job to job without a rest. Fatigue makes you get sloppy. Sloppy gets you killed.”

“We will break after this one. It won’t take long. We will set up Sophie as a client. Once he hacks his way into her business, Hardison will be able to track him back to his files. Then we send copies of all his illegal transactions to the feds and done. In and out. Quick and easy. What could go wrong?”

There was a collective gasp . Parker grabbed the pompom on the end of her hat and mashed it nervously against her cheek. Sophie threw one hand in the air defensively. Eliot closed his eyes and shook his head slowly while emitting a long soft growl.

Hardison jumped to his feet and pointed at Nate dramatically. “Oh, no you didn’t. No you didn’t just say that!”

“What?”

“You did not just say ‘what could go wrong?’. You did not just tempt fate like that. I did not just hear you tell the universe to slap us silly.”

“Hardison…”

Nate’s response fell on deaf ears- literally. Hardison marched away with his hands pressed against his ears while chanting “La la la la la la”. Parker looked from one to the other, wearing her deer-in-headlights look, and then dashed after Hardison. Turning to Sophie for support, Nate found that she was glaring at him as well.

“What? What?”

“Oh, Nate,” Sophie said with a weary sigh, before she too left the room.

Eliot stood in his usual defensive stance, watching Nate impassively.

“You don’t believe in all that superstitious crap, right? It’s ridiculous. Parker believes in Santa, Hardison carries a rabbit’s foot, Sophie has good fortune rituals and the whole pack of them think this simple little job is going south just because I said nothing could go wrong. It’s all insanity, don’t you agree?”

“Damn it, Nate.”

“Well, Merry frickin’ Christmas. I am working with a bunch of lunatics. I need a drink.” Nate slammed the door on his way out.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Scott Wilde reserved some time every morning to review his on-line dating sites. He responded to messages, scheduled dates, took notes on current contacts and cruised the site for new potential contacts. This was all part of the business, though a contact who happened to be attractive was always a welcome bonus. Today was a lucky day indeed, as he found two potentials and both were lovely brunettes. He briefly considered cultivating both women. The first woman, the tall beautiful Zoe Landau, was a lawyer in a prestigious law firm. Her office was in a building that would be ideal for his purposes were it not for the unfortunate presence of so many lawyers. Zoe was a lawyer herself, in fact. Lawyers were suspicious by nature and tended to monitor ‘the bottom line’ more closely than the average stressed out, type A personality business person. Still, if it were not for the second excellent opportunity, he might have taken a chance on Zoe.

Catherine. Now there was a gorgeous woman. She was an agent for a real estate chain. Chain businesses were always a plum choice as many of the building management decisions were done at the corporate level, leaving the local folks to complacently assume that they could direct all their attention elsewhere.

There were many flattering pictures of Catherine Cobb on the agency’s website. She was a stunning brunette with a dazzling smile and truly exceptional legs. Her office was a single story store front, with no outside property. Managing that particular property would not be very profitable. However, Scott knew that many real estate agencies used their management companies for other work as well. They could be called upon to landscape and upgrade properties on the market. This was another opportunity to scope out houses and business offices. Some could be targeted as clients later. Some could have their security measures recorded and possibly breached for future actions. Yes, even small realtor offices could contribute significantly to his profit margin. And Catherine would be a true pleasure to have under the mistletoe. .

With a few clicks of his mouse, Scott selected Catherine as a favorite and began to type an email to introduce himself.

.

.

.

Nate sipped coffee as Hardison detailed Sophie’s alias.

“Your name is Catherine Cobb and you are a real estate agent,” Hardison said, handing Sophie a small box of embossed business cards. “You work for a local branch of Pro Properties. You have sold a number of houses but your specialty is business properties.”

“Why such a modest business? Wouldn’t we be more likely to reel him in with a big splashy company?” Sophie asked.

“Oh, he will grab at this, Soph. Lots of opportunities to branch out,” Nate said.

“Plus,” Hardison added, “getting you placed in a big splashy company would take a lot more time.”

“How’d you do it?” Parker asked over a mouth full of Lucky Charms. Tiny red and green bells jangled on her bracelet as her hand dove into the box for more.

“I arranged for the office to have a bit of a mold problem. I relocated the staff and their phone/fax lines to a temporary office across town. They think the treatment will take a few weeks. The office will be ours for as long as we need it,” Hardison said.

Nate nodded. “Parker, you are the receptionist. I will be another broker. Eliot, behind the scenes for now. Sophie? Has the mark made contact, yet?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie said with a cheshire cat smile. “He is calling himself Kenneth Wilder this time. He tells me that he is a doctor and has just returned from a stint in the Peace Corp. We are meeting for lunch.”

Hardison reached for Parker’s box of cereal and poured himself a hand full.

“You know that’s pure sugar, right?” Eliot said. “Sugar, artificial colors, saturated fats…”

“And little marshmallows!” Parker said with a grin.

Nate clapped once and said with enthusiasm , "Okay, let's go steal a fanfic!"

.

.

.

Mariella watched the snowfall from the window of the condo on Mass Ave. Below her, the morning rush hour traffic was just beginning to abate. Hardison had set her up with a computer so she could get some work done. She had, as instructed, called in sick for a few days. Eliot had stocked the kitchen with plenty of food. She should have been fine. But she wasn’t

After Eliot brought her to the condo, he gave her an untraceable cell phone that had his own phone number programmed in for speed dial. Last evening, Mariella had called her neighbor and exacted a promise that he would feed Frodo and scoop the litter box. Her neighbor, Bob, was a nice enough guy but he hated cats. Would he really feed Frodo twice a day? Would he remember to leave fresh water? And the litter box? Doubtful.

When the worrying reached epic proportions, Mariella knew she needed to take action. She had promised not to leave the condo, had assured Eliot that she would call him if she needed anything. But it seemed silly to call him about the cat. The man was out there with his team solving her problems and possibly saving her life. How could she call him and fuss about scooping cat litter? Her apartment was just minutes away by foot. She would only be gone a half hour. It couldn’t hurt to just run over there for a few minutes and check on Frodo, could it? She grabbed her coat.

.

.

.

Scott Wilde’s secretary cringed as he strode purposely into the reception area of SJW Management, tossing his snow soaked coat onto her desk and snarling out an order for black coffee before closing his office door with a bang. She carefully hung his coat up in the closet and granted herself a minute to wipe the puddles off her desk before fetching her boss a mug of coffee. She was a mature professional, she reminded herself when the urge to spit in the mug came over her. She tapped lightly on his door before entering with the coffee.

“Beth, cancel my 11am and 1pm meetings. I have a date.”

“But, sir,” Beth said, “the gentleman from the bank has been rescheduled twice already…”

“Did I ask you for advice? Did I? Cancel the damn appointments. And learn to keep your mouth shut if you don’t want to end up getting an unemployment check for Christmas.”

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"Send in Marco and tell him to bring a couple of guys from Security.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

Beth left the room, carefully easing the door closed. Mature professional be damned. She wished she had spit in the coffee.

.

.

.

Eliot parked his truck in a garage on Beacon Street and went the rest of the way on foot. He watched cars and foot traffic as he made his way to condo, making certain that he was not being followed. The girl- Mariella- should be fine. The security on the condo was top quality and he had left her with plenty of food. She had a cell phone with his number if she needed anything, which she had not used. So, why did he have this feeling of unease? There was no definitive reason to worry, but he couldn’t shake the feeling down in his gut that something was about to go very wrong with this job. It was a feeling that he had learned to trust.

.

.

.

“You can go in. He’s waiting for you.” Beth didn’t like Marco. She didn’t like the smirk he was giving her. She hated the way he looked her up and down, making her feel like she could use a shower, like she was soiled just from his look. She was always careful to leave the building with other employees whenever Marco was around. Ironic that she should be afraid of the head of the Security department. And why, exactly, does a Management company need security? The guy was just plain creepy. She didn’t like the two goons he brought with him either. She pretended to not notice their leers as they passed her to enter her boss’ office.

Even with the door closed, Beth could hear the murmur of their voices. Scott was definitely angry about something. It sounded like it was about a woman, which didn’t surprise her a bit. At least, Beth hoped it was about one of his many girlfriends when she heard the word ‘bitch’ was used for the third time. She prayed it wasn’t about her. She really needed this job. Her credit card was maxed out from having the car repaired and buying Christmas presents for her three children. With her husband recently laid off from his job and the mortgage due in a week, Beth wasn’t sure how she was ever going to be able to pay off those credit card bills. Her youngest daughter, Julie, had leukemia. Beth was grateful that she was currently in remission, but the medical bills had really piled up. She knew that the remission might not last and if Julie had to be hospitalized again, it would be catastrophic. The health insurance plan that Scott offered was very low end, but at least it was something. Yes, she really needed to keep this job.

“…bitch….fic…published again…tired of this shit…”

Beth stood slowly. Her heart was pounding. She knew this wasn’t a good idea but she had to know if Scott was planning to fire her. She carefully pressed her ear to the office door.

“…can’t take that chance. That bitch could ruin everything. Find her. Take care of it.”

"You got it, boss."

Beth gasped involuntarily when she heard Marco’s footsteps approaching the door. She barely made it back into her desk chair before the door opened and Marco strode out with his goons closely following. Pounding on her keyboard, she feigned busy as they passed. She was so relieved that it was not her they had been discussing, that she did not- for once- notice their leers.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Eliot let himself into the condo. It was quiet. Too quiet. His senses were on high alert, so he knew even before looking, that the apartment was empty. He walked silently through each room, carefully studying details. Nothing seemed disturbed. Mariella’s coat and purse were missing, along with the extra set of keys he had left her. For all intents and purposes, it appeared that she had left of her own accord. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed in the number of the burner phone he had given her. It rang three times but then went straight to voice mail. The voice mail should not have kicked in until after the fourth ring, so someone had to have refused the call.

He terminated the call without leaving a message and hit the number 1 on his speed dial.

“Nate. We have a problem.”

.

.

.

Sophie saw the waiter approaching with her cappuccino. His back was to the door and she could see past him as Scott Wilde entered the restaurant. Wilde was scanning the room intently. Just as his eyes hit hers, she leaned back and crossed her long legs while gracing the waiter with a dazzling smile. The waiter almost dropped her cup. Fumbling with a napkin, he stuttered out an awkward apology as he mopped up the coffee that had slopped over onto the saucer. “Let m-me g-get you another cup, ma’am”. Sophie laid a hand lightly over his, and in a sultry voice told him that this cup was fine and he need not worry about a single thing.

Nate’s muttered curse came through her earbud. “Damn, Sophie. You’re going to give the poor guy a heart attack.”

Sophie grinned, but she knew that she was performing for more than one audience. A quick glance past the waiter confirmed that she had Scott’s complete attention. She took a small sip of the cappuccino, licked the foam from her upper lip and assured the waiter that it was “just perfect”. Red faced and nearly hyperventilating, the waiter hurried away casting furtive glances over his shoulder. He was so focused on Sophie that he slammed directly into a waitress carrying a tray of food. The tray dropped and the china crashed to the floor with a resounding crash, shattering into a mess of broken glass and 5-star food.

“They are probably going to take the cost of all that out of the guy’s paycheck,” Nate said.

“I’ll be sure to leave a big tip,” Sophie murmured.

“You must be Catherine.”

Sophie looked up at the mark, his face alight with open admiration. “Well, hello there. Ken, right?”

Scott seated himself across from her. Casting a quick look for the waiter, he took in the chaotic huddle of staff cleaning up the mess on the floor and seemed to give up on the idea of ordering himself a coffee any time soon.

“You are even lovelier than your profile picture, Catherine. That’s a refreshing change. I find that most people do quite a bit of Photoshop editing on their profile pictures.”

“They certainly do! And they often- shall we say ‘embellish”? Yes, we will just say that they embellish their profile narratives.”

Scott laughed, showing off his perfect teeth. “You are too kind! Let’s be frank. They lie. Big lies, little lies, lies by omission. It seems that everyone I have met has been less than truthful about themselves on-line. Con artists, every one of them. I detest dishonesty, don’t you?”

“I do, Ken” Sophie said, looking him directly in the eyes.

“I can already see that you are different,” Scott said. “And I very much look forward to getting to know you better.”

The flustered waiter, having completed the cleanup, placed a menu in front of Scott and asked if he would like to start with something to drink. Scott nodded. “Black coffee, please. And another cappuccino for the lady.”

.

.

.

Frodo was at the door when Mariella let herself into the apartment. Meowing with gusto, he weaved between her ankles, enthusiastically head butting her legs. “Well, hello kitty boy! It’s nice to see you, too!” After a session of cooing, head scratching and ear rubbing, Mariella set out to take care of business. The cat’s water bowl was almost empty, and it was clear that she was correct to be concerned that Bob wouldn’t do a particularly good job at scooping the litter. Once the food, water and litter were taken care of, she donned her coat and headed for the door. It would be good, she thought, to get back to the condo before Eliot found out she was missing.

Opening the door to leave, she gasped and stopped abruptly, startled to find two men standing in the hall. They were both tall and broad shouldered. They wore suits and stern expressions. One had a nasty scar running down the length of his face, from forehead to chin. He was lean and muscular in contrast to the other man who was taller, broader and carrying quite a bit of extra weight around his waist. Neither seemed to be getting out of her way. “Can I help you?” she asked, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

The one with the scarred face had his hand in his coat pocket. He slowly eased his hand out bringing a gun into view. Mariella’s heart began to pound and her breath caught in her throat. Once she had a good look at the weapon, he slid it back into his pocket and spoke in a low voice.

“Yes, you can help us. You will close that door behind you and come with us. If you scream, I will shoot you. If you refuse, I will shoot you. If you make any effort to get away, I will shoot you. Do you understand?”

She nodded, unable to speak. Following instructions, she closed the door of the apartment. The men flanked her, each taking an arm and escorted her with some force down the hall to the elevator. Mariella prayed that there would be someone else in the elevator that might see that she was in trouble. With a sharp ding, the elevator arrived but was empty. They pushed her firmly inside and hit the button for the ground floor. The short trip down felt like an eternity to Mariella. She was breathing so fast that she was becoming dizzy. She was shaking uncontrollably and her eyes flooded with tears.

“Don’t,” scarred man said. “Don’t cry, don’t scream, don’t even look at another person when we get to the street. Your life depends on it.”

Mariella reached into her coat pocket for a tissue to dry her eyes, and her fingers grazed across a hard smooth surface. The cell phone. The cell phone that Eliot had given her was in her pocket. This was a good thing. This might save her. She would just have to wait for the opportunity to use the phone and call for help. She could do this. She just had to stay calm until she had a chance to dial 911.

The elevator arrived at the ground floor with another sharp ding. The men guided her out of the elevator and out to street, using enough force to leave bruises on her arms. There was no one in the hall of her building. Mariella glanced involuntarily at the security camera near the door. She nearly cried out aloud when she realized that the red light was off. It was not recording.

As they hit the sidewalk, she was pushed firmly in the direction of a van that was idling at the curb a few cars away. Should she scream? Should she try to break away and run? Would they actually shoot her here on a busy street in front of people? Was it wiser to wait for a chance to use the phone? The decision was taken from her when the phone in her pocket suddenly rang. The men stopped abruptly and scarred man scowled at her. “Give me that. Now.”

She took the ringing phone from her pocket. Scarred man snatched it from her trembling fingers, hit the refuse button and tossed the phone into a nearby trash barrel. Before she could think of what she should do, the fat man had opened the side door on the van and scarred man was roughly shoving her inside. She hit her head on the far wall and was dazed for a few seconds. Scarred man sat across from her holding the gun, which was now openly in view. She searched his face for any compassion but his façade was cold and expressionless. Fat man was behind the wheel and the van pulled out into traffic. Mariella glanced franticly out the back window of the van, praying that she would see a police car. She barely registered the sight of a teenage girl with long curly hair standing in the street holding something aloft, before the van turned the corner.

.

.

.

“If my mom finds out I ditched school, I am so going to be grounded for like, a century.”

“G, relax. No one is going to find out,” Em said. “The notes are forged perfectly. No one that we know will see us in this part of town. Besides, being here for the opening of this exhibit is totally going to be worth it.”

“Worth it for you, maybe,” Gina responded. “You’re the museum geek with the straight A average. I am just here because I don’t want to take that Algebra test today. I am so totally going to flunk that class. Why do we even need Algebra anyway? What is Algebra ever going to do for me?”

“You mean besides helping you get your high school diploma? Maybe if you studied once in a while, you could pass.”

“E girl, there isn’t enough study time in eternity to get me to understand Algebra. How much further is the museum?”

“Just another block.”

“Good, ‘cause I really need to pee. Was there really no MBTA stop closer to this place?”

“We could have taken the red line after we got off the green line train, but I think it is just as quick to walk.”

“You could have at least warned me to wear sneakers! If I knew you were going to make me walk a million miles, I would not have worn these boots. Though, these boots are so uber cool that it is kinda worth the foot agony thing, don’t ya think? E? What? Whatsamatter? What are you looking at?”

“Check that out.”

Gina looked across the street to see what had captured her friend’s rapt attention. Two men were walking along the sidewalk with a younger woman between them. “So?”

“Do you see the look on that woman’s face? That’s fear.”

“Damn, E. You are starting to sound just like your father. I like your dad but he’s making you all crazy and paranoid with that stuff he teaches you.”

“Hey, he’s just trying to teach me to stay safe. There is nothing wrong with being aware of your environment and the people in it.”

“Nothing wrong at all except for the part about but becoming crazy and paranoid.”

“I am not being crazy or paranoid. There is something wrong over there. Look, just look. Two really big scary looking thuggish guys on either side of a terrified woman. We should do something.”

“Like what? Call the cops? And while they are busting us for skipping school, we can explain that you are an expert on miniature expressions and think that some lady walking up the street is in dire peril. Yeah, good plan.”

“Micro.”

“What?”

“It’s micro expressions.”

“Whatever. Come on, E. Let’s go. I gotta pee. Wait. What are you doing with your phone? OMG, did you just take their picture?”

“Do you see that? She has something in her pocket that she thinks is important. See how her right hand keeps swaying towards that pocket?”

“You are so making that up.”

“No, look! Thug #1 noticed, too. Look. Look. He is taking something away from her.”

“Fascinating. Can we leave now? My bladder’s gonna burst.”

Gina tried to squash the mental image of pee getting all over her uber cute boots. One of the guys across the street did seem to be having words with the woman. And he did just take something away from her and toss it into a nearby trash barrel. But, so what? It really wasn’t their business and she really wanted to pee. To her relief, the thugs and the woman got into a van and pulled out into traffic. Unfortunately, Em was already dashing across the street, phone in hand, snapping a picture of the license plate on the receding van. Gina sighed and followed. By the time she had dodged cars and jaywalked herself across the busy street- and Em was so going to owe her for this- her friend was already digging in the trash.

“Oh, gross. Really?”

“Look. It’s a phone.”

“They threw away a phone?”

“Yeah. It isn’t password protected. Let me check the contact list. Hmm. That’s odd.”

“What is?”

“There is only one contact. It just says Eliot. Not even a last name. Who do you know that only has one contact in their phone? That is very strange. G, that woman is in trouble. We need to help her.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no. You are not going to call the cops. Seriously, E. My mom cannot find out I ditched school. Don’t you dare call the cops. They aren’t going to believe you, anyway.”

“Fine. Let’s call this Eliot guy.”

Gina groaned dramatically, but E had hit the speed dial.

“It’s ringing. Hello? Um, no. My name is Emily. I think I just saw two guys kidnap your friend.”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Eliot left the condo, locking the door behind him. He was certain that Mariella left by choice, but he had no idea where she might have gone. Clearly he had not properly stressed the importance of the safety measures he had employed. He had only himself to blame if anything happened to her. Even if she had left voluntarily, this did not explain the refused call or the feeling of unease in his gut all day.  
  


He was climbing into his truck when his cell rang. Checking the caller ID, he saw the number of the burn phone he had given Mariella. In a single moment, he ran through a gambit of emotions- relief, annoyance, anger.  
  


"Mariella?"  
  


"Hello? Um, no. My name is Emily. I think I just saw two guys kidnap your friend."

.

.

.

“What a jerk.” Sophie shook her head in disgust. “Yes, I am a grifter and yes, I con people for a living. But this guy? He is despicable. The way he targets young, innocent women to get information and then just breaks their hearts makes me furious. And from what I can see, he seems to really enjoy the process of hurting them. I will relish bringing him down.”

Parker nodded in agreement, causing the giant glittery snowflakes to bob up and down on the springs that anchored them to her bright red velvet headband. With each enthusiastic nod, a fine spray of glitter was airborne. Despite her annoyance with the mark, Sophie had to grin when she saw Nate brushing the glitter from his sleeve. He had no idea that his face was also covered with glitter and sparkled quite becomingly when the light hit it. Hardison too, had a bit of shine to his dark face. The only thing more adorable than these two would be seeing Eliot get his sparkle on. And the image of that in her head, had Sophie forgetting all about her anger at Wilde.

“So, where exactly is Eliot? Will he be coming back soon?” Sophie asked, making an effort to sound casual.

Nate was now studying his other sleeve and making small flicking gestures at the fabric. “He’s out looking for our client. She has disappeared.”

“ _What_?” Sophie asked, “And you didn’t tell us?”

Hardison stopped his typing and looked up from his keyboard in surprise. Parker whipped her head towards Nate, releasing a fresh shower of glitter. Nate began to fan the air in a futile effort to ward off the shiny cloud.

“There is nothing to tell yet. Eliot said it looks like she left of her own free will.”

“I sense there is a ‘but’ there, Nate,” Sophie said.

Parker gave another energetic, glitter-scattering nod. “Yup, there is always a ‘but’ with Eliot.”

“So, what’s the ‘but’?” Hardison asked.

Nate shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Mariella isn’t answering the phone and Eliot has a bad feeling about it.”

This statement brought silence. As much as they all teased and criticized Eliot about his legendary and paranoia-bordering penchant for security measures, they had learned to have a healthy respect for his gut feelings. When Eliot sensed there was something bad about to happen, he was always right. Sophie felt a little chill at the thought of that nice young woman being in danger.

Nate’s cell rang. As he picked it up to answer, Sophie could see Eliot’s name in the caller ID. When she leaned forward to hear, Nate noticed and put the call on speaker.

“Eliot? Did you find her?”

“She was taken, Nate. She went back to her apartment for some reason and two guys grabbed her. Hardison, you there?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a license number. It’s a Mass plate, 892-CXH. White van, unknown make. And I am sending you a photo of the guys that took her. It was taken from across the street by a teenager with a cell phone. Not sure if you can enhance it enough to be useful.”

Hardison was already typing furiously on his laptop. “I am gonna disregard that you just said that. I am not gonna acknowledge the disrespect. You people got no idea what I am capable of doing though you should know since I get y’alls butts outta trouble on a regular basis.”

“Hardison…” Nate and Eliot said in unison.

“I just don’t know how I put up with y’all. I get no respect, no appreciation for my talents. My nana always told me that I need to be with people who can appreciate my uniqueness. I shoulda listened to my nana. She always right.”

“I appreciate your uniqueness, Hardison,” Parker said soothingly while draping an arm over his shoulders and leaning in close.

Hardison’s furious typing paused. “And I do appreciate you appreciating me, baby girl, but you are getting glitter in my keyboard.”

“Hardison!” Eliot yelled, causing them all to jerk in surprise. Parker’s snowflakes bobbed wildly, sending a particularly large amount of ultrafine glitter into the atmosphere.

“Chill, Eliot. I got it. The van belongs to SJW Management. Gimme a few minutes and I will run facial recognition on these two goons that nabbed our girl Mariella.”

“Never mind the goons, Hardison. Can you trace the van at all? Do that thing with the traffic cams?”

Eliot’s voice was calm but Sophie could detect the underlying tension. She knew Eliot well. He was deceptive in his moods. When he yelled at Hardison or growled at Parker, Sophie knew he was merely amusing himself. In an actual crisis, Eliot was eerily calm. Underneath the surface calm, if he was this tense about the situation, it was because he believed that Mariella was in imminent danger. And if Eliot suspected that, it was likely to be true.

“Hardison do this, Hardison do that. Y’all think I don’t know howda do my job?”

Sophie laid a hand gently on Hardison’s forearm and gave him a small headshake that halted his litany. She sent a pointed look at Parker, who silently eased away from Hardison and gave him ample space. Another glance directed at Nate, who nodded briefly, assured her that he also understood the severity of the situation.

“Ahhhright. Eliot. I got the van on the on-ramp of 93, southeast expressway. Need a minute to get into the traffic cams outside the city.”

“I am on my way. Keep me updated. I am switching over to the earbud.” Eliot’s phone disconnected. A few seconds later, Sophie could hear the traffic noise over her earbud.

Nate had begun to pace, running his fingers through his unruly hair. Sophie carefully refilled his glass with a shot of Jack Daniels. She hated his drinking but she had to admit that it stabilized him in a crisis.

“Hardison,” Nate said, “skip the cams in Dorchester and go straight to Milton. They won’t be getting off the highway in Dorchester.”

“How do you know?”

“At this time of the day, they would have hit less traffic just leaving the city through Mattapan. No, they are heading further south.”

“Okay. Hacking into Milton, now.”

“Parker, head on over to SJW Management offices. Steal whatever you can, grab anything that might help us nail this guy.”

Emotions flashed across Parker’s face in rapid succession. Her concern changed to anticipation and then quickly to confusion. “Wait, I thought Sophie was going to hook him and Hardison was going to hack into his records. “

“Plan X, Parker. This thing is going sideways fast. If Eliot succeeds in saving Mariella, Wilde is going to destroy whatever evidence there is and blow town. Go do your thing. This may be our last shot at nailing him.”

“You got it.” Parker slid the bouncing snowflake headband off and tossed it aside in a final puff of glitter. Seemingly from nowhere, she produced the Santa hat and pulled in on. Hardison tilted his head and raised one eyebrow.

“You worried that the bad guys will see your cloud of glitter coming, Parker?”

Parker grinned. “There’s probably air ducts,” she said. “Sometimes it gets a little tight.”

Parker strode to the door with purpose, but paused just before leaving.

“Nate?”

“Yeah?”

“Of course Eliot will save Mariella. You didn’t mean to say ‘if’, right?”

“Yes, Parker. Of course.” Nate looked at her directly and nodded.

Parker’s face lit with a smile and she left

 


	6. Chapter 6

Mariella took long, slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm her terror. She had cried. She had pleaded with the men to tell her where they were going, why they had taken her, what was going to happen. But neither man spoke to her or to each other.

The scarred man sat on the floor of the van across from her and stared at her coldly. His arm was draped across his knees with the gun held casually, pointed at the floor. Through the back window, she could see that they were on the highway, but could not tell where or even what direction they were traveling in. Her heart was fluttering so quickly in her chest, that she felt like she couldn’t breathe fast enough to keep up with it.

To distract herself from the fear that was threatening to envelop her, Mariella thought about one of her favorite television shows. It was based around behavioral experts who could “read” expressions and body language and predict the person’s feelings, intentions and even detect their lies. Every movement of the face and body, either overt or subtle was a wealth of information for these characters. Though it was a fictional series, Mariella knew that it was based on scientific truth. She wondered if she too could interpret subtle clues to the intentions of her captors. She looked at the scarred man directly insuring eye contact, and asked the question that was foremost in her mind.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The scarred man blinked. He did not reply. What did that mean? She felt tears rolling down her cheeks.

.

.

.

Eliot weaved in and out of the traffic, dodging the other cars by inches and earning himself some horn blares and a few rude gestures. He noticed none of this, completely focused on catching up with the van that held Mariella. The tires of his truck squealed as he made a too sharp turn onto the ramp leading to route 93 south.

“Ok, Hardison. I am on the highway. Where are they?”

“The van is passing through Milton. They are in the center lane so it doesn’t look like they are planning on taking the Milton exit.”

“Got it. Any idea what their destination might be?”

“No. SJW manages a few properties south of Boston. Could be one of them. Could be none of them. I just got you on traffic cam. I would guess that you are roughly 7 miles behind them.”

“Not for long,” Eliot said softly.”

.

.

.

“Sophie. Call Wilde and see if you can get him out of the office before Parker gets there.”

Sophie nodded at Nate and retreated into the next room where it was quiet. She dialed the number and was relieved when he answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Ken, this is Catherine. I hope you don’t think this is forward of me, you know, calling so soon.”

“Not at all, Catherine. It is a pleasure to hear from you.”

“You are such a sweetie! Listen, I am calling because an interesting prospect just came to my attention. It is an investment opportunity and promises to be quite lucrative. It is in the medical field, so naturally I thought of you. Its time sensitive, though. If you wanted to get in on this, it would need to be today, I’m afraid. Might you be interested?”

“I am intrigued, Catherine. Tell me more.”

“Oh, darling, there are so many details. Could you meet me, perhaps? If you could come by my office, that would be wonderful. I am all alone here today and I would really love to see you.”

“When?”

“Now? Is that possible? I would hate for you to miss this opportunity. Oh, call me silly, but I feel that you and I could be very good together.”

“I agree. Text me the address and I am on my way.”

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.

.

Hardison’s fingers flew over the keyboard. Normally, hacking traffic cams wasn't much of a challenge for him. But the van was traveling fast and Eliot even faster. He was lucky to catch a quick glimpse of each vehicle before it passed. Alternating between vehicles and cameras was a carefully choreographed dance. He was so intent on the process that seconds passed before he registered Eliot’s question.

“Hardison. How close am I?”

“You are both in Weymouth. He is about two exits ahead of you, that’s about two miles.”

“What’s after Weymouth?”

“Hingham. Hanover. Then Marshfield. Eliot, listen. SJW doesn’t have any properties that far south. I don’t know where they are going.”

“Marshfield,” Nate said.

“Marshfield?” Not for the first time, Hardison wondered how Nate came to these conclusions. Crystal ball, maybe? He considered himself to be an intelligent man. But Nate…the guy was spooky smart. “Why? There really ain’t nothing much in Marshfield. It’s pretty rural. Why would they be taking Mariella to Marshfield?”

Nate did not answer, but Eliot did. Hardison felt a chill at his reply.

“It’s a body drop.”

.

.

.

”I’m in.” Parker’s voice whispered over the earbuds.

“Good,” Nate responded. “Can you get into his computer?”

“No.”

“Parker, I can help you break the password.” Hardison said.

“Well thanks, but that would only be helpful if there actually was a computer. There is a power cord here that looks like it would fit a laptop. I think he took it with him.”

Nate cursed under his breath. He turned to Hardison and Sophie. Hardison was focused on the computer but Sophie gazed back at him with trust, waiting for his next move. The problem was, he didn’t have a next move. And if he didn’t come up with something fast, the mark might get away with everything and their client might lose her life.

“Parker, can you…” Nate stopped when he heard new sounds over the earbud. A door knob rattled briefly and after a few seconds, a female voice, that was most definitely not Parker’s, spoke.

“Who are you? How did you get in here? I am calling Security.”

Parker’s earbud went silent.

.

.

.

Beth pounded at her keyboard, stopped, made a correction and pounded some more. After the fifth time she had to correct a typo, she gave up on finishing the report. It was just no use. She was too stressed to concentrate. The bank had called her at work about the mortgage. The bank officer was calm, polite and professional but the message was clear. They were threatening foreclosure. She had been harboring a secret hope that she might receive a holiday bonus which perhaps could be enough to hold back the foreclosure for at least a few more weeks. That would be a Christmas miracle indeed, considering that she was employed by a particularly mean Scrooge.

While nothing was ever said to Beth directly, she had occasion to note that not everything at SJW Management was as it seemed. Financial numbers did not always add up and often were altered in some inexplicable ways. Some months ago, she had decided that it would be prudent to get herself away from this company. She feared that the authorities might come knocking at the door some day and she did not want to be a part of any illegal or even questionable activities. Unfortunately, the job market was scarce and Beth knew that her boss would be vindictive enough to deny her a reference. Her daughter’s hospital bills and the always tardy mortgage payments combined to trap her in her current unpleasant and disconcerting job situation.

No. There really was no point in trying to finish this report. Beth saved her work and closed the file. It wasn’t as if Scott would even know it wasn’t finished- he had taken off once again, leaving her to cancel all of his afternoon appointments. The smarmy grin on his face when he left suggested that he was deferring work to meet with one of his many women. Her shift was almost over anyway, so she might as well wrap things up. First, she should find and wash his coffee cup. He was very particular about that cup, and naturally never bothered to rinse it himself.

Beth opened his office door and was several steps in before she registered that she was not alone. Shock paralyzed her for a few seconds. There was no other door to Scott’s office except the one behind her desk. No one had passed her and she had not left the desk all afternoon. How was this possible?

Standing at Scott’s desk, was a slim, pretty woman wearing a Santa hat over her long blond hair.

.

.

.

“Nate! I think I got a visual. They are getting off at the Marshfield exit.”

"Stay on them, Eliot. If they get away…” Nate's voice drifted off. When he noticed the concern on Sophie’s face and Hardison’s tense body language, he opted to leave the sentence incomplete.

"I know.”

Nate reached up and muted his earbud, before turning to Hardison. “Parker?”

Hardison shook his head. “Looks like she turned off the earbud.”

“Dammit. Why would she do that?”

Sophie touched his arm lightly and spoke. “She doesn't want to distract Eliot from saving Mariella.”

Hardison stiffened. “But if she’s in trouble…”

“If she is in trouble, we have to trust her to take care of herself. There is nothing we can do until she turns that earbud back on so we can assess the situation.” Nate poured himself a finger of Jack Daniels and gulped it down.

“Sophie. Change of plans. Get out to the Pro Properties office and meet Wilde. Stall him as long as you can. We need to buy Parker some time.”

Nate rubbed his temples where a tension headache was beginning to form. Perhaps he should give more thought to the superstitions of his team. He would certainly not be calling any future jobs easy ever again.

.

.

.

Beth backed out of Scott’s office. Without taking her eyes off the intruder, she fumbled under her desk and hit the panic button. She was skeptical about ever needing that button, and in fact, had found its very existence strange. Who could have guessed that she would ever voluntarily summon Marco and his security thugs?

The woman walked slowly closer, calm and perhaps with an air of curiosity. She tilted her head and spoke.

“Do you like him?”

“What? Who? Get back. I called security.”

“Your boss. Do you like him? Is he good to you?”

“I mean it. Stay away from me. The guys from security will be here any second.”

"Do you trust him?"

Beth paused. “No. I don't. You should leave now.”

“No, you should leave. Your boss is going down. You really don't want to be anywhere near this when it happens.”

The door burst open and Marco rushed in, brandishing a gun.

Beth looked at gun and the man holding it. She thought of all the times she avoided being near him. She thought of all the times she failed to avoid him and the uneasiness she felt in his presence. She looked back at the woman in the Santa hat, who was standing there looking relaxed and serene. She looked at the photo on her desk, her husband and children smiling.

“Beth. What's going on? Who is she?”

"Sorry, Marco. False alarm. I bumped into the button accidentally.”

Marco narrowed his eyes as if he sensed a lie. "And her? Who is she?"

Beth shrugged. She smirked at Marco and whispered “Just another one of the boss’ lady friends.

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.

.

The van stopped. The scarred man opened the side door and gestured to Mariella. Leaving the van was the last thing in the world she wanted to do, but the look on his face made it clear that resistance would be a poor choice. She slid across the cold metal floor and climbed out of the van.

They were in a heavily wooded area. The fat man pointed to a barely discernible path through the trees. When she hesitated, he grabbed her upper arm and yanked her forward. Mariella screamed.

“Help! Help me!”

The fat man backhanded her hard across her cheek and she fell backwards and hit the ground with a jarring thud.

“Shut her up.”

Mariella flipped over to her hands and knees and tried to stand. She cried out in pain when a heavy blow to her back knocked her face first into the slushy dirt. Her arms were pulled behind her and tightly bound with something rigid and sharp. He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, slapping a piece of duct tape across her mouth. Twisting her bound arms cruelly, he hauled her to her feet and pushed her towards the trees.

Mariella heard a metallic rattle behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she caught a brief glimpse of the scarred man before the other thug shoved her forward again. The scarred man met her eyes and smiled. He was holding a shovel.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Scott was grinning. The prospect of some ‘afternoon delight’ with the delectable Catherine was worth a day of canceled appointments. It was even worth the sour expression on the face of his stupid secretary when he told her to make the cancelations. He reminded himself to fire that bitch. She definitely knew too much. On the other hand, if he fired her, she just might retaliate by going to the authorities. Granted, what she knew was merely the tip of the iceberg but in the hands of the Feds, it could lead to an investigation that could take him down hard. It was definitely time for Beth to get her termination. It just wasn't the kind of termination that came with a severance package. It wouldn't be the first time, and not likely the last. Beth would join that foolish fanfic writer, along with a few others who had caused him trouble, on a one-way ride out to Marshfield.

Scott’s reverie was broken by his arrival at the Pro Properties office. As he reached the door, it flew open and a slightly heavyset woman in high heels, gray suit and improbably red hair flew out in a cloud of perfume. She whirled around, pulled the door shut and thrust her key into the lock.

“Excuse me, ma'am.”

“Oh, sorry! I didn't see you. Are you looking for Pro Properties?”

"Yes, I was supposed to..."

“Well, we are across town now. I can give you the address.”

“Across town?”

"Yup. I guess there is some horrible mold problem in this building. I left my glasses here and had to come back for them. Looks like they haven't even started whatever they need to do to fix it.”

“There seems to be a mistake. I was supposed to meet one of the real estate agents here.”

“Oh, who?”

“Catherine Cobb.”

“Well, honey, there has definitely been some mistake. I have been with Pro Pro for ten years. We’ve never had an agent named Catherine Cobb. I would be happy to help you with whatever you need, though. Are you looking to buy or sell?”

“Um, neither actually." Scott turned and headed back towards his car ignoring the redheaded woman who was calling after him and waving her business card in the air. His gut was clenching and his heart began to pound. He could think of no innocent explanation for this. Catherine was a fed and this was a sting. Just as he got to the car, his cell phone rang. He debated not answering it but the caller ID read Marco, his head of security.

“Yeah?”

“We've got problems, boss. I can't reach Joey and Bud, and the silent alarm just went off in your office.”

Scott disconnected without answering. Shit. He dropped the phone on the sidewalk and ground his heel into it repeatedly. He used his foot to sweep the broken pieces into a storm drain.

He eased into his car, snatched the laptop and booted it up. His mind raced while he impatiently waited for the laptop to finish booting. Once his desktop appeared, he pounded out a sequence on his keyboard that he had hoped to never have need of. With just a few keystrokes, he initiated a program to delete all his files. He watched the code flashing across the screen for a few seconds before tossing the laptop aside.

He started the car and pulled out into traffic, only distantly noting a screech of brakes and blare of horn when he cut someone off. He headed the car towards Cambridge. He would stop on the bridge long enough to toss the laptop into the Charles River. Then he needed to stop at the office and retrieve the thumb drive, after which he would get the hell out of Boston.

.

.

.

Holiday traffic was a bitch. Sophie pulled into a space under a no-parking sign. The space was unfortunately still a block away from the Pro Properties office. She set off down the street as fast as her 3-inch stiletto heels would carry her.

She was momentarily relieved to see Scott Wilde standing in front of the office door. Thank goodness, she hadn’t missed him. As she drew in a breath to call him, she realized that he was not alone. She stopped and ducked into a doorway of a clothing store. Peering cautiously around the glass display windows, she watched as a redheaded woman locked the door of the office. Damn. Who was she and why was she there? More importantly, what was she saying to Wilde? Whatever it was, Wilde was striding away from her without letting her finish. He stopped by his car, and seemed to be answering a phone call. Almost immediately, he tossed his phone to the sidewalk and stomped heavily on it. After climbing into his car, he fussed with something that Sophie could not see, and then pulled out into oncoming traffic without so much as a glance at the other angry drivers.

Eliot didn’t need this distraction, Sophie thought. She reached up and checked to make sure her earbud was muted before dialing her cell.

“Nate. We’re blown.”

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.

.

Eliot pulled his truck off the highway and onto the long curved off ramp to Marshfield. Failing to obey the signs that urged drivers to slow down to 30 mph, he took the sharpest portion of the curve on two wheels.

He lost sight of the van when it made it through a yellow light at the intersection where the ramp ended. The law abiding citizen in the car in front of him had stopped. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration while waiting for the light to change. At the first glimpse of green, he pulled his truck into the left lane and gunned the engine, pulling around the car in front of him before the driver had a chance to react. With a screech of tires, he made the left hand turn and raced in the direction the van had taken.

“Hardison! I lost them. They were going south on 3A. What’s down there? Someplace rural, undeveloped, maybe?”

Eliot could hear the rapid tapping of the keyboard through his earbud. Hardison’s voice was calm. “There’s a state park, Eliot. A big one. Several acres of land with both woodlands and marshes.”

"Woodlands. It will be woodlands. How far?”

“About 8 miles from the Marshfield exit.”

Eliot swerved around a car in front of him, and with the road now wide open he pressed the accelerator pedal to the floor.

.

.

.

Scott pounded on the elevator button as if beating it would bring the elevator sooner. Damn it, he didn’t have time for this. He wrenched open the door and ran up the stairs.

Arriving at his office angry and short of breath, he noted that his receptionist was absent, which was just as well. He might have been tempted to break her neck right then and there. But there was no time for hiding the body and he didn’t need any more attention on himself when he was trying to get out of town fast. Still, she was damn lucky she chose today to leave early.

He reached under his desk and probed until he found the small lump of duct tape, dug his nails under it and pulled. He held up the thumb drive and heaved a sigh of relief. It was risky as hell coming back here but this was not an item he could afford to leave behind. The contents of this drive were far more valuable than what he lost on his laptop. He tucked it securely into the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

 

Pulling open the desk drawer, he rummaged until he found his spare passports and credit cards. He selected one of the passports and pulled out a credit card with a name that matched, stuffing the others into his jacket pocket. Since he destroyed his cell phone, he had to spend a few more precious minutes in the office. He grabbed the phone and dialed 411.

“Directory Assistance, how can I help you?”

“Logan airport, Delta Airlines, Boston, Massachusetts,” he enunciated clearly.

“One moment, please. I will connect you.”

“Boss.”

Scott looked up. Marco was standing in the doorway.

“Boss, something’s gone wrong out in Marshfield. I can’t…”

“Shut up, idiot. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Delta Airlines, how can I help you?” said a pleasant voice on the phone.

"Yeah, I need to book a flight to the Cayman Islands. The first one out you got. The name is Scott Grayson. Mastercard 221 327 2991.”

“One moment, please.”

“Boss,” Marco said insistently, “what’s going on? You leaving?”

“Yeah, Marco. And if you have an ounce of sense in that thick head of yours, you will destroy anything that links you to this and get as far from here as you can, as fast as you can. Go, go. Get outta here. Now.”

Scott turned his attention back to the phone. The soonest he could get a flight would be hours from now. Not good, but the best that could be expected. He booked the flight. He would ditch the car and take a taxi to the airport, just to be cautious.

He noted with relief that Marco had vanished. Too impatient for the elevator, he dashed down the stairs and trotted out to the street. Spotting a taxi, he rushed forward waving, bumping into one of the many holiday shoppers that thronged the sidewalk.

“Watch where you are going, you stupid bitch.” He had time to register a sweep of long blond hair under a red Santa cap before he realized the taxi had passed him by. “Wait, wait! Taxi,” he called as he rushed into the street to catch it.

.

.

.

Sophie burst in, breathless and as anxious as Nate had ever seen her. As she was normally something of a neat freak - particularly where her wardrobe was concerned- he raised an eyebrow when she tossed her coat over the couch where it immediately slipped off into a heap on the floor.

She slapped down a parking ticket onto the counter next to Hardison’s computer and muttered “When you get a minute, make that thing go away.”

She must have known her earbud was off but she reflexively toyed with it anyway.

“What’s happening?” she said in a whisper to Nate.

“It’s okay,” Nate said. “Hardison muted our earbuds. We can hear Eliot but he can’t hear us.”

Sophie nodded and turned her earbud back on. “Has he found Mariella?”

“Not yet.”

“Parker?”

“Nothing yet from her.”

“We need to do something. We can’t just stand here.”

“There is nothing we can do, Soph. We need to just let this play out.”

She returned his look with tears welling in her eyes. Without thinking, Nate reached out and wrapped his arms around her. He drew her close. Resistance drained out of her body and she rested her head against his shoulder. For a few brief precious moments, they shared their fears and offered each other comfort.

Hardison appeared to be oblivious to this exchange, still hacking in and out of multiple traffic cams. He reached up and tapped his earbud on.

“Take the next right, Eliot. It’s a little dirt road that leads into the state park.”

“Copy that.”

Nate knew that Eliot tended to revert to his military training when under duress. That small snippet of military jargon spoke volumes about his stress level. _Eliot doesn’t think he can catch up with them in time._

Nate reluctantly released Sophie. They sat next to Hardison and listened carefully to the sounds coming over the earbuds. The steady thrum of tires on pavement was overlaid by the roar of an engine pushed to its limit. A brief squeal followed by some thuds suggested that Eliot had made the turn onto the dirt road. Judging from the incessant squeaking of the truck’s suspension, Nate surmised that Eliot had not diminished speed despite the rough terrain he was now on. They listened in silence until the sound of protesting brakes and a spray of gravel announced his arrival at his destination. The engine abruptly cut out.

“Eliot?”

“I’m here. The van is here. It’s empty. There are foot prints in the snow and signs of a scuffle. Some blood. I am following the prints in.”

Snow muffled his steps but they could still tell that Eliot was jogging.

“Eliot?” Sophie’s voice cracked. “How much blood?”

“Just a little, Sophie. She probably just fell and cut her hand.”

 _Eliot wasn’t telling the complete truth._ Nate thought. _It was likely more than just a fall._ He reached out and placed his hand over Sophie’s. He wanted a drink badly, but now was not the time. These people, his team. The client, too. They were in peril because of his decisions.

Eliot’s jog came to an abrupt halt. They heard a voice in the distance. “This is far enough.”

“Eliot? Eliot! What’s happening?”

“A little busy here, Nate.” This was followed by a loud thud and a grunt. Eliot’s breathing was audible. “C’mon. C’mon.”

Nate could picture the look of anticipation on Eliot’s face and the way he would be wiggling his fingers in a “come here” gesture. Hardison was also envisioning the scene judging from his satisfied grin. Sophie’s fingers tightened around Nate’s.

More thuds. More grunts. More sharp intakes of breath. An ugly snapping noise. Though the fight felt like an eternity to the listeners, it was over in less than a minute. Nate never entertained a doubt about who would be the victor, so it was an unpleasant surprise to hear Eliot curse.

“What’s wrong? Eliot?”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

Mariella slipped and stumbled on the snowy ground, but the thug’s iron grip on her arm prevented her from falling. He pushed her forward, further and further into the woods. The duct tape muted her whimpers. 

“This is far enough.”

The fat man threw her to the ground. With her arms bound behind her, she had no way to break the fall and struck her head painfully on a rock. Warm blood streamed from a gash on her forehead into her eyes and down her cheek. 

Partially blinded and face down on the snowy ground, she heard sounds she could make no sense of. Thuds. Grunts. A whoosh of breath. Using a strength she did not know she possessed, she rolled onto her side and pulled her feet under her. Stumbling awkwardly to her feet, she ran without looking back. 

Tree branches whipped her painfully and she slipped to her knees more than once, but her terror drove her on. Her sneakers were soaked through and she no longer felt her feet as she ran. Blood continued to stream into one eye and she could barely see through the tears flowing from the other. 

"Mariella!"

She skidded to a shaky stop. Someone had called her. The voice seemed familiar. Dizzy and laboring to breathe through her nose, she listened intently, poised to run again if necessary. 

“Mariella! Don’t move! Don’t move. Sweetheart. I’m coming for you.”

She blinked away her tears and turned towards the voice. The image was still blurry but the gravelly voice unmistakable. Eliot. He was approaching quickly, holding out a hand as if to calm a wild animal. 

“Hold still, darlin’. Don’t move.”

He was reaching for her but seemed to be looking past her. Slowly she turned her head to face forward and saw…nothing. Looking down, she realized she was teetering at the edge of a ledge, looking down into a drop of at least 40 feet to the rocks below. She felt a paralyzing mindless terror for only a moment before her vision grayed and she dropped into unconsciousness.

.  
.  
.  
“Eliot? Eliot, what’s wrong?” Nate could feel the tension radiating off Sophie and Hardison.

“Mariella’s gone. She bolted. Hang on, I gotta find her before she gets hurt.”

Snow crunched under jogging feet. “Mariella!” Sudden silence. “Hold still, darlin’ Don’t move .”

“Eliot! What’s happening?”

“Mari…shit!” Scuffling. Gasp. “Gotcha. I gotcha, darlin’. Damn. That was too close. I got her, Nate.”  
.  
.  
.  
Hardison found Nate in the kitchen, staring morosely into his glass of whiskey. 

“I called the hospital in Weymouth. They will be expecting Eliot’s arrival with Mariella. Nate? You listening?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I heard you. What’s her condition?”

“Eliot says she is banged up pretty good. Broken ribs, concussion probably. Gonna need a bunch of stitches. Likely they will admit her. He thinks she’ll be okay, though.”

“Any word from Parker?”

“No. So, what now?”

Nate threw down the whiskey in a single punishing gulp. “Now. Now, Hardison, we finish what we started. We take down that creep.” He slammed his empty glass on the counter and strode back to the office area. Hardison followed.  
.  
.  
.  
Rush hour traffic flowed away from the city at this hour of the day, and Eliot’s trip back in was fast and uneventful. He drove directly to the SJW Management office, leaving his truck at the curb under a no parking sign. The front door was locked. A well placed kick remedied that.

Eliot went from office to office, kicking in doors because he was too angry to use the door knobs. Someone was going to pay for what was done to that nice young girl.

All of the offices were empty. All, except for the last, labeled Security on the door. Inside the office, a tall burly man was feeding papers into a shredder. He turned to face Eliot and sneered. Before his fists were raised past his belt, Eliot floored him with a vicious right hook. He reached into the man’s pocket, pulled out his wallet and checked the ID. 

“Marco Smith. Smith? Really? Well, Mr. Smith. Tell me where your boss is.”

Hands pressed to staunch the flow of blood from his broken nose, Marco glared and muttered, “I ain’t tellin’ you nothing.”

Eliot smiled like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh, I think you will.”  
.  
.  
.  
Sophie watched the byplay like a ping pong game. The force with which Hardison was pounding his keyboard betrayed his otherwise calm facade . Nate was pacing back and forth incessantly, his tirade at Hardison interrupted only by generous swallows of whiskey. 

“It’s gone, Nate.”

“There has to be something we can get him with. Keep looking. We are not letting this guy walk.”

Hardison sighed in frustration. “There is nothing. It’s gone. I have searched for his IP addy. I have sent out my web crawlers to find that laptop’s signature. I have done all I can. It is gone.”

“So, it is powered off. Turn it on. I have seen you turn on devices remotely dozens of times.”

“You ain’t listening to me, Nate. It’s gone. G.O.N.E. Gone. I can’t hack what doesn’t exist.”

“Can you hack this?”

Sophie, Nate and Hardison turned as one to see Parker standing a few feet away. Sophie was startled but not surprised. She had stopped being surprised at Parker’s amazing stealth long ago. While Hardison could enter and exit any computer system without leaving a trace, Parker could do the same to a room.

So, without any of them noticing her arrival, Parker now stood before them holding a computer tower and looking quizzically at Hardison. She repeated her question. “Can you hack it?”

“Yes, mama, I surely can. You think there is something on that we can use?”

“Oh, I think there is lots on this we can use. It belongs to Beth.”

“Who is Beth?” Nate asked.

Parker smiled. “Oh, sorry!” She stepped aside to reveal a nervous looking woman hovering uncertainly at the doorway. “Everyone, this is Beth. She’s my new friend. She is very brave and she is willing to testify!”

Parker thumped the computer down next to Hardison. Reaching into her back pocket, she produced a parking ticket and slid it in his direction. “And can you fix this thing, please?”  
.  
.  
.  
“Nate! Where’s Eliot? He should have been back by now.” Sophie’s mother hen concern for Parker had now transplanted to the missing Eliot.

“I don’t know. Ask Parker. She spoke with him earlier. Something about the airport. He’s okay, where ever he is.”

Nate studied Sophie’s stiff body language. She was in need of a fix. Well, not a fix actually - more like a fixing. It was what she did. She fixed people. An hour with Sophie was more productive than a year with a therapist. He knew just the thing.

“Soph. I am driving Beth home. Can you come along? The poor woman is frazzled.”

Sophie bestowed him with the 10-carat smile. “Of course!”  
.  
.  
.  
Nate was hovering. He knew that Hardison hated it when he hovered, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He really wanted to see this creep go down. Driving Beth home had kept him productively busy for a short while, but he was back at the office now, mind racing, and unable to stop hovering. Hardison had been working on Beth’s computer for several minutes and Nate was becoming impatient.

“Is it enough?”

Hardison turned the computer screen so Nate could see. “Oh,yeah. This is plenty. Combine this with Beth’s testimony and Wilde ain’t gonna see the light of day for a long time.”

“There might be more.” Parker said. Digging into the pocket of her elf dress, she produced a thumb drive and offered it to Hardison. “I think this is what he went back to the office for, so it must be important.”

“Need I ask how you got this, mama?”

“Hey,” Parker said in a mildly defensive tone, “he deserved to get pickpocketed. He called me a bitch. He’s a very rude man.”

Hardison plugged the drive into a USB port and hit a few keys. His eyes widened.

“Hardison? What is it?” Nate asked.

“Swiss bank account numbers. And Lord Almighty, the pass codes, too!”

Nate smiled. “Parker! Make the call!”  
.  
.  
.

FBI agents McSweetin and Taggert were next up on the assignment board. When a team completed an investigation, they were placed on the board as available. New investigations were assigned in order. Currently, McSweeten and Taggert were at the top of the board, much to their chagrin. 

“Damn. It’s gonna be us again,” Taggert grumbled. “Every year. It’s always us.”

“Maybe not,” said the ever optimistic McSweetin. “Maybe the next case won’t come in until after Christmas. We are due for our luck to change.”

“You really think that crime is gonna stop for the holiday?”

“Well, maybe the next case will be a quick one. We can wrap it up fast and then our names will go to the bottom of the board. Think positive!”

“I positively think we are going to get screwed on Christmas again this year.”

McSweetin was relieved when his phone rang as he was running out of placating things to say to his grouchy partner.

“Hello, FBI. McSweetin.”

“Hi there! Happy holidays!”

McSweetin knew his partner was watching but could not prevent the grin from spreading across his face. “Special Agent Hagen! Happy holidays! It’s so nice to hear from you! What have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know. Work, work, work! In fact, I was hoping you could help me with some of this work.”

“Absolutely! We’d be happy to help! Whatever you need,” McSweetin said, ignoring his partner’s groan.

“You are very sweet, McSweetin! So, I just got tapped for an undercover job, and I need you to finish up the case I am currently working on. All the leg work is done. I will email you all the files and evidence I have collected. Everything you need to put away a scumbag is in those files. All you have to do is make the arrest. You will find the guy in the ER at the Mass General. Shouldn’t take more than an hour of your time.”

“You got it, Hagen. Maybe after the holidays, we could get together for a drink?”

“I may be away for a while doing this undercover thing. You will just have to accept my undying gratitude, for now. Gotta dash. Info should be in your email now. Merry Christmas!”

McSweetin hung up the phone, still grinning. Taggert shook his head sadly.

“You got it bad, dude. That woman isn’t into you. And now she’s got you cleaning up after her. What crap did you just agree to?”

McSweetin scanned his email and whistled in appreciation. “What I just agreed to was an arrest.”

“An arrest.”

“Yup. Just an arrest. There is enough stuff here to put the guy away for a long long time. All we need to do is arrest him.” McSweetin looked up at his partner and smiled broadly. “It’s going to be a huge case and all the work has been done for us. Once we put the guy in the slammer, our names go to the bottom of the board and Christmas is ours!”

Taggert stared at his partner in disbelief. “Seriously? Well, apparently there really is a Santa Claus!”


	9. Chapter 9

“Hardison. Fix this, ok?”

Hardison looked down at the parking ticket and back up at Nate. “When did you manage to squeeze in a parking violation?”

“When we took Beth home. Apparently there is no street parking in her neighborhood when it snows.”

.

.

.

Lieutenant Detective Patrick Bonnano looked at the caller ID on his phone and grinned as he answered it.

“Eliot.”

“Pat.”

“It’s a little close to Christmas to be planning a poker game.”

“Yeah, true. It’s about something else. Something I would rather not go into too much detail about. Let’s just consider this an anonymous call.”

Bonanno nodded to himself. The so-called anonymous calls he received from Eliot usually resulted in some very satisfying arrests. He reached for a pen and paper. “Okay. Go.”

“There are two guys getting patched up in the ER at South Shore Hospital in Weymouth. You will want to grab them before they are discharged and have a meaningful conversation with them.”

“How soon are they being discharged?”

“Oh, it won’t be right away. They are pretty banged up.

Bonanno grinned. “Let me guess. They are very clumsy and fall down a lot.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, what meaningful thing would I want to discuss with them?”

“I think you will find that they were involved in a number of disappearances. People who had run ins with a grifter named Scott Wilde.”

 

Bonanno stiffened, all traces of amusement gone. “Disappearances. I’m going to need more than that, Spencer. I will need proof.”

“I will text you some coordinates for a wooded area in Marshfield. I believe you will find all the proof you need there. And, Bonanno?”

“Yeah?”

“Bring cadaver dogs.”

.

.

.

“Hardison.”

“Yes, mama?”

Hardison had not realized that Parker had entered the room, but her appearances and disappearances no longer disconcerted him. He still found her to be a dazzling source of amazement, though. There she stood, tiny little red and green bells gracing her bracelet, necklace, belt and the tips of her green elven boots, yet he had not heard her enter. Amazing.

“You busy?”

“Naw, I am just booking some airline tickets for Sophie.”

“I didn’t know she was going away.”

“She’s not. Something on your mind, little mama?”

“About the money in the Swiss bank accounts…how are we going to give it back?”

“We ain’t.”

“Why not?”

“The dude’s been stealing from lots of places for lots of years. The records of all that were on the laptop he destroyed. There is no way to know who, what, where or how much. All that info is gone.”

“Oh,” Parker said thoughtfully.

“Problem?”

“No. I was just hoping you could help me with something. Hacking stuff.”

Hardison grinned. “Well, you know how much I love hacking, mama. Whatcha wanna do?”

 

.

.

.

Eliot walked past Parker and Hardison without a word, and headed for the kitchen. The refrigerator was so packed with orange soda that he had to remove a few bottles to get to the water. He downed a bottle of Dasani and reached for another. He filled an icepack, pressed it against his shoulder and strolled back to the office area.

They were definitely up to something. Parker and Hardison were bent over the laptop. She was dressed in a ridiculous holiday outfit, with annoying little bells jangling all over her body. He was showing off his computer prowess, fairly radiating cyber arrogance. They both looked happy.

“Let’s do the mortgage next!” Parker giggled and did a little happy dance. Eliot decided that he did not want to know what they were up to. Sometimes it was just better not to know.

Eliot pulled the wrinkled forms out of his pocket and tossed them in Hardison’s direction. “Fix those, will ya?”

Hardison spread them across the counter with one finger, eyebrow raised. “Three parking tickets in one day, Eliot? Weymouth, downtown Boston and Logan Airport? Damn, El. That’s a record, even for you.”

“Cost of doing business.” Eliot raised the water bottle in salute and left.

.

.

.

Mariella watched the snow fall outside of her hospital window. Sleep eluded her. She was sore all over and had a relentless headache. None of it mattered, though, because she was alive. She was alive and the ordeal was over.

Nate had called to tell her it was finished. Ken or Scott or whatever his name was- he was in jail. The thugs that kidnapped her were also in jail. She might get called upon to testify in court, but other than that it was really and truly over.

A nurse tiptoed carefully into the room, carrying something large.

“Hi.”

“Oh, you’re awake! I would have thought you’d be fast asleep by now after the day you have had. Here, let me just put on this light so you can see what I have.”

Mariella blinked at the light. Her head throbbed so she placed a hand over her eyes for a few moments until they adjusted.

“What is it? Let me guess. Another basket full of needles and blood tubes?”

“Nope. Something much nicer. Look!”

Mariella cautiously moved her hand away from her eyes and stared in amazement at the gorgeous flower arrangement the nurse was holding aloft.

“They are from someone named Eliot who is sending get well wishes. I can’t even believe we got a night delivery. The florist said that he insisted and gave them a huge tip. Your boyfriend is my hero, honey.”

“No, not my boyfriend,” Mariella said. “But he definitely is a hero.”

.

.

.

It was late. Everyone else was gone and Hardison was enjoying the quiet. He stretched his long legs and yawned. It had been an exhausting day. He knew he should get some sleep but the day’s accumulation of stress combined with an orange soda/gummy frog sugar overdose made him feel restless and edgy. Perhaps some light reading would relax him before bed. It might be interesting to read the story that started this crazy day. Hardison typed fanfiction.com into the browser.

Hours later, Hardison was still awake and reading. He had read dozens of fanfic stories and had gravitated over to a sister site called AO3. There was some seriously good stuff here. He was amazed at the quality and sheer quantity of work on these sites. He was humbled by the talent and generosity of the writers. He had even found a multitude of stories on Star Wars, Star Gate SG1 and Dr. Who. All desire for sleep had fled. He read on.

Outside, fat fluffy flakes of snow were falling silently on the streets of Boston.

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

_Christmas Eve_

 

Mike sat at the bar and stared into his beer mug as if the answers to all of life’s questions might be found within.

“You seem a little blue.”

He looked up into the kind eyes of a middle aged man with a head full of unruly curly hair. He hadn't planned on chatting with any strangers, but found himself pouring out his heart to the man.

“I got fired from my job. I can't find another because my boss won't give me a reference.”

“What did you do to get fired?”

Mike felt the heat of a blush rising up his neck and into his face. “There was a customer…a really beautiful woman. I guess I got distracted. I wasn't watching where I was going and walked into a waitress carrying a big tray of food and, well…big mess. Boss let me finish the shift and then fired me. He took the damages out of my last check.”

“Wow. That's harsh. And just before Christmas, too.”

“Yeah. I really needed that job. I am going to law school on loans. That job gave me flexible hours and with tips, I made enough money to eat. If I don't find something else really soon, I might have to drop out of school for a while.”

“You know, I believe I know a bar that is looking for some good help. It not a wait staff job, though. They are looking to hire a smart, motivated, hardworking guy to help manage the place. You seem like you'd be a good fit.”

“Really? Where?”

“It's called McRory’s. You could stop by tonight. Go see the bartender. Tell him Nate sent you.”

.

.

.

Both arms loaded with bags of groceries, Beth leaned down to turn the door knob with one hand and bumped the door open with her hip. She eased the door closed with one foot as she dumped the bags on the counter. The house was blessedly quiet. Her husband had taken the kids downtown to see the Christmas lights on Boston Common, a yearly tradition for their family. Usually Beth went as well, but she had begged off this year citing the need for groceries to make Christmas dinner.

She planned on a nice big turkey dinner with all the fixings, followed by apple and pumpkin pies. It was going to be a wonderful dinner. She was going to watch her children open their presents and she was going to enjoy making, serving and eating that dinner. Christmas would be perfect, she vowed. The terrifying gnawing uncertainty of how they were going to manage now that she and her husband were both out of work, would have to wait until after Christmas. She would absolutely not let the credit card bill and the mortgage payment- both late- ruin her favorite holiday. No, she would not. Wiping her eyes to stem the flow of tears, she unpacked and put away her groceries.

Finished with the last bag, she poured herself a glass of wine to steady her nerves. A few sips of wine and a few quiet minutes to sit and relax, and then she would start preparing for tomorrow. She scooped up the glass and headed for the living room, kicking off her shoes into the hall closet as she passed. A bit of white caught her eye. Mail. Her husband had brought in the mail and left it on the hall table. No. She absolutely should not ruin her evening by opening that mail. She started to turn away, sighed and reached for the pile of envelopes. It was going to make her miserable whether she opened the mail or not, so she might as well face it head on. She sat, pushed the wine glass aside and began ripping open an envelope.

Beth stared at the statement, confused and stunned. She read it over and then over again more slowly. She did not understand. How could this possibly be? The oil bill was paid. All of it. They were months behind but somehow the entire bill was paid. In a daze, she opened another envelope followed by another and another. The credit card bill…paid with a zero balance. The electric bill…paid. The mortgage? It too was paid- in its entirety. It seemed that they now owned their house. And the bank statement showed an impossibly fat balance. No, she must be dreaming.

“Honey, are you okay? What's wrong?”

Beth looked up into her husband’s concerned face. Her three children stared, wide-eyed. She had not even heard them come in.

“Nothing is wrong. Everything is right.” Beth handed the statements to her husband.

Julie, her youngest daughter, climbed into her lap. “Mommy, why are you crying?”

Beth hugged her close and her other two crowded in for hugs. “It's okay, sweetie. Sometimes mommies cry when they are happy.”

Her husband looked up, slack jawed. “How? How could this be?”

Beth smiled. “I think it was Santa.”

.

.

.

TELARYN OMG, U R not going to bereave what just happened!

TELARYN believe….not bereave. Damn auto correct!

FLEUR LOL what am I not going to believe?

TELARYN AO3 just got a donation

FLEUR ??? So? AO3 exists on donations.

TELARYN Yeah, but this is different!

FLEUR How?

TELARYN First, it was anonymous. Second, it was…drum roll, please…

FLEUR What? U R killing me!

TELARYN the donation is a million bucks!

FLEUR OMG OMG OMG…U kidding?

TELARYN Nope serious as a heart attack!

FLEUR Wow! Merry Christmas!  
.  
.  
.

The doorbell rang. Cal wasn’t expecting any visitors. It was probably a boy- an annoying boy who wanted to see Emily and who, without a doubt, was not good enough for her. Cal just hated how fast his daughter had grown up. From the moment she was born, he felt like his life had gone into fast forward. And now that she was a teenager, she had ideas of her own on how to live her life. Cal did not always agree with those ideas. But, Emily really was a great kid with a good sensible head on her shoulders. He was proud of her. He trusted her judgment. It was the boys he didn’t trust.

The doorbell rang again. Emily called down from her room.

“Dad! You going to get that? Answer the door!”

 _Sure. Answer the door. Let the annoying, untrustworthy boy in._ Cal sighed.

He took a moment to put on his “scary dad scowl”-which he was confident could strike fear in the heart of any teenage boy- before he threw open the front door. The face that looked back at him was not afraid and was not a boy. A smiling woman in a jacket displaying a local florist’s emblem was peering at him around a truly impressive armload of long stem red roses.

“Hi. Happy Holidays!” she began cheerfully. “I have a delivery for a Miss Emily Lightman.”

“Those are for Emily?”

“Yup! Three dozen of these beauties! Gorgeous, huh? Someone really likes Miss Emily! I was there when the guy came in to order them. Man, was he was a hottie! Serious pheromones!”

Cal emitted an involuntary growl, which oddly did not seem to deter the delivery woman’s effusive cheer. She thrust the flowers into his arms and pulled a clipboard out from under her arm.

“I just need a quick signature, right here on this line,“ she said as she pushed a pen into his hand.

Shifting the load of flowers to one arm and craning his neck to see past them, Cal scrawled his name on the delivery slip.

“No need to tip, sir. The super hottie guy took care of that! You have a great holiday, now! Bye bye!”

Judging from the delivery woman’s absurd display of delight, super hottie guy must have made her Christmas quite merry. Cal closed the door with perhaps a bit more force than was really necessary. Thumping the vase down onto the hall table, he plucked the tiny white envelope out of the flowers and removed the card. The signed message simply read “thank you”.

“Emily! Who the bloody blue blazes is Eliot?”

.

.

.

“I feel really silly in this wheelchair. I can walk!” Mariella had been protesting in vain for the entire elevator ride down.

“Hospital policy,” the nurse replied cheerfully. “Everyone gets a ride to the door! Now, I am going to leave you right here at the volunteer’s desk while I check to make sure your ride has arrived.”

“No need,” Mariella said. “There she is now.”

Sophie smiled and waved as she strolled into the lobby. “I’ll take it from here,” she told the nurse. She commandeered the wheelchair and brought Mariella out to the car. In a few short minutes, she was seat belted in and Sophie was pulling onto route 18 towards the highway.

“It's so nice of you to give me a ride home, Sophie. I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, darling. After all you have been through, you deserve a bit of pampering.”

“Still…it is incredibly nice. It's Christmas Eve and I know you have a flight to catch. You shouldn't be spending your time on me.”

Sophie glanced at her briefly, turned back to the road and casually asked “A flight?”

Mariella blushed. “I didn't mean to be nosy. I saw your luggage and a boarding pass on the back seat.”

“Ah! Actually, those are for you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” While watching the road, Sophie rummaged with one hand in her purse. She produced an envelope and handed it across to Mariella. “This is for the return flight. The date is open, so you can come back when you wish. I spoke to your boyfriend. He’s a sweetie. He knows when your flight will arrive and will pick you up at the airport.”

“What…you…how…why? Why would you do that for me?”

Sophie gave her the 10-carat smile. “Because everyone should spend Christmas with someone they love. Merry Christmas, Mariella.”

 


End file.
